


sunrises over devil town.

by Charles34



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Destiel - Freeform, Hunter Corp., I'm trying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Might be a bit ooc, Mintchesters is the best fucking au name for them i love it, My interpretation of Hunter Corp!Dean and Sam, really - Freeform, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles34/pseuds/Charles34
Summary: "Hey, Samuel, you think we did something good here?" Questioning, hopeful tone, deep and worn out. Tired."I think so, Dean... I think so." Soft, hopeful, wishing. Also tired."Bitch.""Jerk."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, HunterCorp!Dean/HunterCorp!Castiel, Minor Sam Winchester/Gabriel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. lovely. very lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> So, while I'm only on season three of the show, I've gotten to see lots of the things that go on throughout the series cuz of youtube compilations and fanfics and such, so im sorry if this is very off and the characters are a bit ooc. I just got an idea about Sam and Dean's Hunter Corp counterparts and had to write it out. Imma try my best to make this a slow burn!!!

From the raw age of four years old, his life had been turned upside down and destroyed, uprooting itself and making a run for the road. The death of Mary Winchester sent them into disarray, and yes, while he took it upon himself to enjoy life to the fullest, his father seemed to drain him in a way that became mandatory, lest he wish to feel emptier without his constant backlash and bickering. But yes, he loved his father, and once the youngest of the Winchester siblings would enter the room, the tension would drop and suddenly their old man radiated nothing but joy at the arrival of his favorite son. Yes, this is the Winchester family. Joyous, perfect. Happy.

_ “Dove?” A desperate, shaky voice spoke in the darkness of the field, filling in the silence.  _

_ “Dove…..?” _

Of course, the sunshine never lasts forever. The end was coming, and they were bound to be killed. So they did the only thing they knew how. 

They ran. 

They ran like the cowards they were with no other way to save the world. 

_ “C’mon….say something.”  _

_ “Please…” _

And when they arrived, it was just them two. Him and Sam. Sam and Dean Winchester, with no father in sight, and the teal colored Fiat. 

It made Dean wonder if John Winchester was dead. 

He felt sorrow at the thought, and a trickle of cold relief. 

_ “Please!” _

_ “You can’t go yet! You can’t….you… Angel please!” _

And guilt. 

They ran, and now they stood in a cold bunker with two doppelgangers before them. Sam and Dean Winchester 2.0. Flannel and all. 

They didn’t look like the cowards he and his brother were. 

They didn’t run.

  
  


`````

  
  


“So you’re saying you come from a uh...alternate universe?” The flannel wearing Dean doppelganger spoke before him, in a somewhat flabbergasted and annoyed tone that edged him off in an irritated way, although he remained thankful for their hospitality. 

Answering for them both, the youngest Winchester nodded, comfortably seated at the table as two bottled beers sat before him and Dean. “Yes, we do. And now it ceases to exist, sadly.”

“We left with our father,” Dean added onto what Sam had been saying, forcing away the dread and joy he felt at the current revelation. “But he didn’t make it, I’m assuming. Else he’d be here too.” 

“Sadly..” Sam gave a sigh, lifting his unopened beer as their doppelgangers watched on in confusion. Sam popped open the bottle and Dean did the same, the two clinking their beverages together. “To Dad.”

Despite how Dean felt the urge to curse at the very idea of their father, he gave a thin smile and nod, drawing his bottle to take a swig from his beer. He furrowed his brows, a line forming at the center of his forehead as he swallowed down the alcoholic beverage. It was different, but he liked it. He spared a glance his brother’s way, but found his face scrunched up in distaste. He looked back at their doppelgangers, glancing between Sam and Dean 2.0. “Alright, so uh… I suppose in order to keep away any confusion, we should get nicknames, right?”

“Why do we need to have nicknames? Why can’t they have nicknames instead of us?” Sam pressed his lips into a frown, turning to look his brother in the eye. 

Dean flicked his green irises to meet Sam’s hazel and shrugged his shoulders, taking another sip from his bottle. “I mean, it’s only fair. This is their universe.”

“Exactly.” The Dean 2.0 spoke, pointing at Sam as he spoke. “You’re Samuel,” he then turned his finger to the shortest of the four Winchesters in the room. “And you’re D. There. Now let’s get down to the point.”

“What did you mean that your Dad came with you through the rift?” Sam dove straight into questioning, looking between both D and Samuel, wanting either of the two to answer. 

D felt his throat close up at the thought of the man, but with Samuel’s staring at him, it was expected that he answer. Keeping down a sigh, he smiled and leaned forward, prepared to lie straight through his teeth on the matters of John’s ‘kindness’ for the sake of his younger brother. “Father predicted that the world was gonna end, so we found an escape from that Earth and went through together. He was a great man.”

While Sam seemed only slightly confused, Dean looked as though he were scrutinizing D, staring straight into him, but he ignored the doppelganger to the best of his ability. Samuel nodded, sighing in a disheartened way as he set his bottle back on the table, running his fingers over the sides of it. “Yes, that he was… We wouldn’t be where we are without him, no doubt. Dead, with the rest of our world.”

“Anyway, you guys hunters too?” D decided to try and change the subject onto something less daunting, and to say that he saw his father a worse subject than that of demons and wendigos said something, and with the sight of the gears turning, even if ever so slowly, in Dean’s eyes, it was obvious he picked up on it. D knew he himself was not a good observer, so he figured perhaps it was the fact that they were both the same person that allowed for Dean to read him somewhat easily. It was unsettling. Made him want to down the rest of his bottle and stand up and just say it out loud,  _ John Winchester deserved to die.  _ But he knew better than to do that, especially since Samuel was in the room and, to add on, Dean and Sam might still have their John Winchester. They might still have him, and he might still love Sam, and maybe even Dean. Maybe these were the better versions of them- although D felt there was no better version of Samuel out there that wasn’t his own- or maybe this was just a better version of himself, at least. He couldn’t make that judgement yet, though, they barely got there.

The conversation seemed to drift along from there without another word of John Winchester. And thus the plan was made that they would be staying in place of Dean and Sam, pretending to be them if God dropped by. D feigned ignorance and shock at the talk of God existing to resemble the genuinely surprised and confused expression his brother wore. Having come face to face with God himself, he could feel anger and hatred coiling in his entire being, glad he had never introduced his dear brother to the deity. Samuel was unaware of the existence of angels and God before they’d met their doppelgangers, and D didn’t want his younger brother to think he thought so little of him to not tell him of the truth about their world and the many others out there, so he went along with it. Ignorance was bliss, er, well...had been bliss.

D and Samuel were told the two would be leaving the next morning at the crack of dawn, so they were given a spare pair of the doppelganger Winchesters’ clothes as well as a quick rundown of what and what not to do as them. They were left to their own devices as soon as dinner came, and while D knew they both came off as prissy, rich assholes, he found no reason to redeem himself in the eyes of two people who should’ve known them well enough to be aware that they were more than just rich privileged fucks. 

  
  


`````

  
  


Within the freezing, rigid cold of the guest room D occupied, he awoke in a cold sweat, hands grasping the bed’s sheets as his usually well kept hair was stuck to his forehead in a most unpleasant way. The heavy weight of the nightmare he’d escaped from rested upon his shoulders and head, a splitting headache making him yearn for some kind of chill to run down his body. So he pushed himself up from the mattress and spared a glance at the alarm clock on the mahogany painted bedside table, the red, glowing numbers making him squint. Too damn early… He shook off the thought and stood, the feel of cold tile beneath his feet already allowing a chill to travel through him. He went to pick up the clothes he wore the day before, but then he recalled what they were supposed to be doing that day and took the flannel and jeans with him into the bathroom down the hall. He turned on the tap and undressed from the uncomfortable and sweat drenched Led Zeppelin t-shirt Dean had allowed him to wear to bed, folding said t-shirt and shorts up before setting them aside.

He looked over the inside of the bathroom, taking in the simplicity of his surroundings before he took a step into the bone biting cold water that ran over his body and envisioned his worries being washed away into the drain beneath him. But simply imagining it didn’t bring the visualization into fruition, with his body still weighed down with the fears and doubts he had circling throughout every crook and nanny in his head. 

D cleaned himself in the droplets of water with the soap in the shower, finding the smell of the cheap substances to be somewhat nice and alluring in their own odd way. No doubt would Samuel find the scent absolutely horrid when he got in here later. That thought made D chuckle as he imagined his brother rambling in annoyance about how he smelled like a ‘poor street clown’ or something of the like. Samuel loved clowns though, so probably not that clown bit. 

He dressed himself in the odd fabrics that had been bestowed to him the night before from Dean once he dried his body and then realized that he hadn’t been given a tooth brush of his own. D considered using Dean’s, but then quickly disregarded the thought once he questioned what exactly his doppelganger ate on the daily. He supposed he would have to see himself, maybe there was something good in their kitchen.

He left his sweat covered pajamas in the guest room he had slept in that night and took in the eerie silence of the bunker, keeping his mind from wandering too far off the deep end as he continued his way down the hall. His hands kept picking at the ends of the flannel shirt he wore, finding the fabric felt nice between the tips of his fingers and was snug against his form in a comfortable manner. He should ask Dean where he bought his clothes… They were probably cheap, plus, they were cozy. 

D made his way into the kitchen and took quick glances around the small space before he opened the fridge. There was a lot of poor people's food, but he supposed he could understand why there were. Sam and Dean never even got paid for their work. Had to be hard…

And then D realized that he didn’t know how to cook, and it’s not like they could call up for take out or delivery to the bunker unless they wanted to be given some very questioning looks and the police called on them for, well, I don’t know, living in a goddamn bunker? Sure, it wasn’t  _ their  _ place, but no stranger would know that. 

Well, no time like the present. He gathered up as many random ingredients he figured would go into pancakes and bacon and set it on the counter, looking over everything he thought would help. Ok, typically cakes had like...shit, what would Mary cook with when she was alive and still made them breakfast everyday? It was like...this….batter stuff and some milk… bacon was just the bacon alone right? Yeah, it was-

_ “Darling?” _

D stopped dead in his place, his right hand clenching onto the can of peaches he had been holding and reading over. It was a nickname he heard often in his dreams, in his messed up head of his, and the sound of it again made his heart throb with sorrow and hopelessness. Turning just enough for him to take in the sight of his Angel standing across the island counter, a warm smile on his face. 

The way his hair was messy and untamed like D remembered it being only worsened the aching need he felt to reach out and touch his love, his Angel. His piercing, blue gaze bore into his soul, reading him like a magazine headline in bold font, his stubble barely noticeable from where he stood. The leather jacket he had on, the one that was dirty and always torn at the spot on his left shoulder, was worn confidently on his beautiful form. The button up, blue dress shirt underneath with a fraction of his collar bone exposed underneath the jacket, his jeans as messy as the leather over his torso with grime and oil and a few tears. This was his Angel.

“Dean? What are you doing?” The intrusion of Samuel’s voice made D blink and turn his head away from his dear to his brother at the doorway of the kitchen, stepping inside and gazing at him with concerned, hazel orbs. 

“I- Uh-” He swallowed down the lump in his throat and turned back around, not even bothering to take a second glance at the spot his Angel had been. He knew he wasn’t there anymore, just another trick of the mind. “I was trying to figure out how to make pancakes and bacon. Do you want peaches with your pancakes or…” D glanced over his shoulder to his brother, who he just now noticed was also wearing a flannel and jeans, which he looked like he was already hoping to get out of, but kept his signature man bun. 

He’d been against it the first time he’d seen it all those years ago, the same as this universe’s youngest Winchester had reacted, but he’d become accustomed to it due to an incident once three years back, when Samuel’s protection sigil tattoo hadn’t worked and resulted in his possession during a dreadful case. The demon had not worn the man bun, and ever since then, the hair style became a comfort to the eldest of the two siblings, letting him know that, yes, this was his Samuel. He was alive and breathing and okay, not lying in a ditch somewhere, dead and still. He wore the bun to sleep, in the shower, everywhere. And while no one else knew why, they both did, and that’s all that mattered.

“That is going to taste absolutely horrid. Firstly, because it’s all cheap ingredients and secondly, because you don’t know how to cook at all, Dean.” Samuel listed off reasons as he made his way over, peeking at the ingredients his brother had gathered as he quickly answered the shorter Winchester’s question. “Are you alright, brother? You’re awfully pale. Like you saw a ghost. Wait, did you? Do you think we’ll have to perform a hunt whilst the other two are gone?”

“No, no, Samuel, I’m fine.” D answered with a thin lipped smile, looking back over the things he had on the counter before him. “Seriously though, I think I can figure something out. I remember a bit about how Mom would make them. Maybe they won’t be so bad.” 

“Yes, well, when you fail at that, we can feast on..” Samuel took a peek into the refrigerator and scrunched up his nose at the sight within. “Cheap booze, watermelon, some gross looking ham… raw meat…” 

“Oh, c’mon, Samuel, I can cook fine! Maybe...hopefully..” D muttered and chuckled awkwardly as he got to it, trying his best to remember how his mother had done this. He couldn’t remember very well, especially since he was four at the time, but a few things stuck out.

The day went by rather lazily. D’s pancakes weren’t awful, nor were they as plentiful or delicious as the breakfast feast he could recall his mother had the talent of creating for the Winchester family in their beautiful home of Sioux Falls. While Samuel didn’t enjoy the alcohol there, D did, so he drank some throughout the day with the judgement of his younger brother, who took to sitting in what D could vaguely remember Dean called the “Dean Cave” during his rundown of their daily routine, with Samuel watching a reboot on Netflix of some show he had been super into when they were kids. Meanwhile, he stayed in the library, reading up on the many things that he would possibly encounter in the future if they decided to continue hunting in this universe or if they somehow got their old world back and went on with their jobs at Hunter Corp.. They had a research team, and while they were useful, he did somewhat like looking into monsters and ghouls on his own.

He came upon a chapter in a book speaking of reapers and couldn’t help the way his body physically recoiled at the thought of a harbinger of death. That case had been one of the worst he could remember, where John had accompanied them because apparently the reaper in Belgium had gone rogue, reaping the souls of everything and everyone it so much as thought deserved death rather than kill those who had logical, reasonably normal reasons to die the way they did. 

He can almost feel the touch of death on his cheek, hand icy to the very bone, grasping the side of D’s head as it drained and drained and drained, stealing the life force from his body as he wriggled on the floor in pain. He could remember how his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes as he expected it should’ve, but instead, felt each memory being taken from him, his mind becoming muddled with fog and confusion at the intense sensation of him losing the ability to comprehend who he was. The way Samuel ran up to it and tried to kill the damn thing, even with a knife still protruding straight through his chest, how he had been bleeding out and still saved D. 

It was that night when Samuel nearly died again, when he nearly lost his little brother for a second time. It was then later, while Samuel was in his hospital bed and resting like he should, that John had taken to giving D a fractured rib and bruised collar bone for not keeping his little brother safe like he should’ve. It was then they went back home with father in one of their many private jets, when D had gone to his room where he downed liquor till his belly was warm with liquid bliss. 

He read over the pages swiftly before continuing on to the next one, the picture of a Woman in White bringing him back to another case that resulted in John’s wrath and alcohol in his room. And as he kept looking page after page, he realized just how many times he’d let his father down by letting Samuel get hurt. Ten minutes turned into thirty, then an hour and fifteen, then three. Books scattered across the table he sat at in the library, with his eyes currently glazed over with the brink of tears as he read over the words of a book on demons. He saw the name Lucifer and nearly started tearing at the book in frustration until he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. He took the moment to wipe over his eyes with the ends of his sleeves and downed the rest of his beer, with three bottles sitting around him. The exhausted tone of his own voice, but not necessarily his own, as well as Sam’s, made him ease up in his chair, and calm down knowing they could leave and figure out what their next step would be. He kept his eyes glued to the books before him, skimming over the words there, although it did nothing to settle the ever growing rage and sadness in his heart. 

“-can’t believe it. Stay outta my Dean Cave.” Dean stepped into the room and looked over at D, a scoff leaving his lips. “Never thought alternate me was a nerd. What’re you reading for?”

“He finds reading up on monsters helps him feel more informed on cases.” Samuel answered for his older brother as he came in with Sam and Dean, as well as another being that D hadn’t yet noticed. “Anyway, God didn’t stop by. As you can tell.”

“Great. Now let’s get you guys outta here!” Sam spoke quick and happily, walking over to where D sat to pick up the books. 

“How are you gonna do that? You need an angel’s grace to open a rift,” came D’s voice in a flat, unimpressed tone as he wondered if maybe Sam meant they’d found a way to bring his universe back while out. That would be….ok. He supposed. 

“I believe that is what I’m here for.” 

The moment he heard his voice, his head shot up from the book between his arms and his wide, green eyes stared at the figure of the one he’d seen many times before, images of the mind that played tricks on him, made him believe he was truly there. But this one was different. 

He was cleaned up, the bags under his eyes weren’t nearly as dark as before, and he now wore a tan coat that resembled the color of the jacket he’d arrived in this universe wearing, a white button up shirt and blue tie, black slacks, and some nice shoes. No tears, no dirt, no scars, just his Angel, unordinarily his yet not quite. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, having taken notice of the odd, quick and startled move of his head towards their companion.

Castiel tilted his head in his own Castiel way and bunched up his brows. “Are you alright?”

The Winchester couldn’t respond, his throat was closing up and his gaze became blurry, heart pounding in his ears. Before he could force the words he wished to speak past his lips, the Angel made his way over and clasped a warm hand over his shoulder, his touch so real and there and  _ alive _ . He looked worried the way he always did whenever D did something stupid, when he needed time to recollect everything that may have happened, like on a hunt when he ran headfirst into trouble like the idiot he was. 

“I am very sorry for your loss. The destruction of your Earth must have been horrific.” His deep, gravelly voice made jolts of hope run through his body. 

  
  


_ His Angel. His Dove.  _ **_Breathing_ ** _. _

  
  


“Dean, hey, what’s wrong?” Samuel bound over with his long strides, joining him at his side and rubbing his back to ground him once more. 

D cleared his throat and tore his gaze off of the Angel before him, shrugging his hand off of him as though it was a bother, although the contact was anything but that. “Nothing, just- what if we stayed here? Ya know, for just about a few more days or something.” He found his relief at leaving became replaced with reluctancy.

“Oh, hell no.” Dean cut in as Castiel moved away from D and went back over to his own eldest Winchester, with it taking D’s whole being and will power to keep himself from watching longingly. “You aren’t staying here.” 

“Yeah, we gotta deal with this God guy and you two shouldn’t get mixed up in that,” the younger of the two doppelgangers spoke, putting the accumulation of books from the table back to their respective spots on the shelves circling the library.

“But we can help.” D stood up and took one of the many books Sam had taken from his pile, opening it rather quickly. “I’ve been reading, and I think I’ve got just the thing that’ll get rid of your Chuck problem.”

Samuel looked to D in slight confusion- seemed he was doing that a lot recently- and furrowed his brows, hands resting on his hips. “Who’s Chuck?”

“We never told you his name.” Dean’s words dripped with suspicion as his own green apple irises studied D intently, taking a step toward the shortest Winchester in the room. D would’ve pointed out that it was odd his poorer counterpart was taller than him, but with the nervous sweat breaking out on his palms and forehead, he could only curse himself out mentally for letting that slip. “Seems like you  _ know  _ God.”

“That’s kinda absurd,” D gave a quick shake of his head and let his gaze lock onto Dean’s inspecting orbs, as though trying to read him the way his Angel used to so easily. “How would I know God?”

“You’ve died, haven’t you?” Interjected Castiel, making everyone turn to look at the Angel then at the rich, eldest Winchester sibling expectantly.

When D didn’t respond, Castiel felt it appropriate to continue. 

“You’ve died, and you came back. Your Castiel brought you back, didn’t he?” 

  
  


_ His Novak. His Angel, gentle hands stitching him back together _ **_._ **

  
  


“I’m sorry, he doesn’t have a you in our universe.” Samuel answered once more for his older brother, then looked to him for confirmation. “Right? I don’t remember meeting a Castiel, I’m sure I would’ve.”

But D remained quiet. 

  
  


_ His Dove, dear, darling, sweetheart, drawing him away from the awful heat, the awful embrace of fire and pain and unwelcome thoughts, his  _ **_Castiel._ **

  
  


“D?” This time it was the Sam without the man bun who tried to draw the richer Winchester back to reality. Castiel only watched on, the same intrigued and questioning expression resting upon his beautiful face D had come to cherish. 

  
  


_ Cold. His Castiel, dead, freezing, painted red.  _

  
  
A distant chuckle left him and he shook his head, opened the book he’d taken back from Sam, and just  _ left.  _ He abandoned the tension and allowed his exhaustion to catch up with him as he hurriedly made a detour for the kitchen, picked a few bottles of beer out of the refrigerator, and went back to the guest room he was staying in. He collapsed on the bed and read over the words, letting the slight buzz of being tipsy grow with the slick drop of alcohol on his tongue. How he managed to keep away from developing a gut was beyond him.


	2. ever painful tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a different interpretation of the kitchen from the bunker so like- its literally not anything like the bunker's canon kitchen cause i forgot about the way it looked so like sorry

He understood he was cowardly. He ran often from his issues, figured it’d seem as though they didn’t exist, but he knew he couldn’t keep running for the rest of his life. He could try though, and try he would. He’d keep trying till his heart gave out. Until the last inhale of oxygen filled his lungs to a degree both satisfactory and uncomforting. He’d run till the day he’d be swept into Heaven or Hell, the latter being more likely. 

He could still remember it. Still see it all so fucking  _ clearly.  _ How his Castiel managed to save him was beyond his own comprehension, but he didn’t mind not being able to grasp the events of his resurrection, at least not fully. All he had to know was that he had been graced by the Heavens with a ragged, dirt covered Angel, one that had taken the intricate pieces of his soul and body and worked them back into place in the pits of Hell. He’d raised D from perdition, and to say that the hunter didn’t fall in love the moment he awoke and stared into those beautiful, ocean eyes would be the most horrid lie he could tell. 

D raised his hand from where it had been resting against the sheets he sat atop, pressing it over the spot on his heart where the hand print was left underneath the flannel he still wore, his anti possession tattoo resting in the middle of it. He couldn’t help but wonder if this universe’s Dean had been raised from Hell as well. Where would his handmark be? Perhaps his pelvis? The sternum? Collar bone? Shoulder? Maybe it was on his face and he used makeup to cover it, although he highly doubted it, seeing as the man seemed like he’d be against the idea of makeup being worn on his body, so any of the former options were most likely. Unless he was raised by his ankles. 

The visual of the cleaned up Castiel struggling to lift Dean from the fiery agony of Hell by his ankles made him smile, but it wasn’t enough to bring on a chuckle like he wished. Then he saw his face again and couldn’t help but compare the way they looked, but simply comparing the two angels in his head didn’t feel satisfying enough. Looking about the guest room, he let his right hand drop from his clothed chest and set the bottle of alcohol in the opposite hand down on his bedside table, pushing his legs over the bed to stand. He went over to the desk in the corner and opened one of the three drawers, green irises glancing over every little knick knack held within before he spotted a pen and paper. He could vaguely recall the art class he had taken in the homeschool program that his father had created, something about wanting D to be good at something so he could flaunt him the way he did Samuel, although, he had gotten a B in that class and John was anything but proud. He wasn’t very good with art, but he tried. 

So he slid down to the floor, crossing his legs over one another and nestling the notepad between his thighs as he started to etch the features of his Castiel onto the paper the way he could recall he looked. To the crinkle of his eyes when he gave him his signature, warm smile and the way his temple wrinkled from the lines of stress and exhaustion over his thousands of years being alive, then the stray hairs of his that would fall into his glorious, tempting gaze. His nose, a bit crooked from once breaking it and accidentally healing it at a slightly off angle, but it seemed Castiel never noticed. The nick of a scar at the end of his left eyebrow, small and light against his slightly tanned skin, another edge of a scar set across the bottom of his neck to the center of his collar bone, the rest of the scars the Angel may have were hidden beneath wrinkled, cozy clothes. Once D had informed Castiel that he found scars were a wondrous way of remembering the journey of life and since then, the Angel took to letting the wounds he’d get during hunts and battles scar over, a reminder of the love the cosmic being had for his human. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised when Castiel reciprocated his feelings that fateful day that D confessed, the two sitting in his minty fiat as they drove down to what they both thought was going to be the end of their lives. Of course, it hadn’t been their time, not yet at the very least, so after that night they spent whatever hours they could spare with one another without John or Samuel knowing. It was for their safety, something he treasured above most things in his universe. 

The sound of a steady knock on his door somewhat pulled him out of his thoughts, although he kept his gaze on his paper and continued to add the smallest of details that he could remember from his Castiel onto it. Despite wearing a perfectly warm shirt and pants, he felt like his bones were made entirely of ice. It was bothersome. 

“Come in.” If it was Samuel, he didn’t know what he would do, or how he would be able to form words that somehow made any sense without choking on his own guilt. If it be Dean, he’d be even more irritated by the presence of his doppelganger trying to crack him open like a safe, and if it were Castiel, he figured that the iciness of his bones would spread to the rest of his body and keep him silent and still. And the doppelganger Sam-

Dean was walking into his room, arms at his sides and fingers gripping his belt loops in a way that reminded D of John. Unpleasant memory. He looked to the fiat driving D, and he wondered if he was beginning to try and pick apart the pieces of his richer counterpart. Instead, the man sauntered over and plopped down a foot away from him, resting his head against the wood of the desk he leaned on. Then he broke the silence. “You gonna start talking?”

The simple four worded question had D bellow a laugh, his eyes trained on the paper and pen as he added one final detail to it. This was his Castiel. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Dean rolled his eyes before fixing them on the wall across where they sat, hands shifting to rest on his thighs comfortably. “Whatever, smartass.”

It went quiet for a few passing moments, with D lightly trailing his thumb over the drawing of his dear, the ink drying rather quickly so that it didn’t smudge when the tip of his digit made contact. He traced the intricate lines, the messy yet calculative ones he’d drawn, imagining that it was the jaw of his lover he was touching rather than a drawing of him. Didn’t feel too convincing.

He could recollect how his skin wasn’t soft like his own pampered self, yet rough and in need of proper care. D would always find himself trying to spoil the Angel, wanting to give acts of service to his fatigued Dove as a way to show his admiration for him. He’d buy him the many things he needed and yearned for without others knowing, he’d go on and shower him in riches and worship every inch of his magnificent self like he were God and not that awful excuse of a deity that did, in fact, rule the universe. Of course, Castiel would always deny that he deserved such things, which only egged him on to provide him with more. Let’s just say Castiel had a pretty extensive wardrobe and enough sweets to make the Angel’s brother, Gabriel, want to keel over and pass out.

“That him?” Dean was once again the one who broke the silence, his right hand closest to D giving a small wave towards the drawing to insinuate what he was asking. D nodded, tearing the page out and setting it between him and Dean before he got to work drawing this universe’s Castiel. The doppelganger in flannel lifted the paper carefully, looking the drawing over in thought as the cogs turned in his head. He spoke as he examined the little things on the picture. “He’s got scars?”

“Yes.” D responded without an explanation, keeping his gaze glued to the notepad he scribbled on. 

Dean glanced at the richer Winchester then looked back at the drawing, giving a shake of his head. “He looks….tired.” 

“He is.”

A nod, and Dean set the drawing back down between them both, looking at the notepad. “How the fuck you know how to draw? Your amazing fucking dad teach you or some shit?” 

D thought it over, taking note of the harsh tones of his doppelganger’s voice when it came to speaking of John before responding. “He had me take part in art class. Father felt that Samuel and I should at least be mediocre at most common things that are taught in school.” A half lie, but partly true. No harm done with little white lies, after all.

At that, Dean scoffed. “You went to school?”

“Homeschooled, actually. Hunter Corp. was becoming fairly well known and father decided that since he was successfully building up a corporation that Samuel and I should go to school, but he was becoming more famous, so he hired a nanny.” D smiled at the thought of his nanny, er, manny, Bobby Singer. A kind man who D had remembered Castiel said radiated pure, fatherly pride for him and Samuel, his soul made up of earthy tones. However, upon the question as to what his own soul looked like, Castiel had been vague and simply answered,  _ “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  _ Didn’t really fulfill his curiosity, but that statement had flustered him much to his Angel’s delight.

“Huh. Fucking bigshots.” Dean muttered under his breath, glancing at the drawing on the floor once more before looking to the one D was working on in his lap. It seemed he was pondering what to ask, but then finally made up his mind. “What happened to him?”

D kept his irises glued to the paper he scribbled on with his pen, fingers picking at the metal of the contraption as he did. The very memory of such a horrid day made him want to grab one of the few bottles on his bedside table, but he stayed in his place. 

Dean, as expected, didn’t wait for an answer. D assumed that his poor counterpart knew he wouldn’t bring himself to answer if they were anything alike, and he was right. Despite their different upbringings, they were still Dean Winchester, one in the same. A broken, self deprecating man who had a hard time with talking about himself because ‘jesus christ, don’t be selfish, other people are doing worse than you so shut up!’ Yeah… perhaps that is what made a Dean Winchester a true Dean Winchester. Jesus, that was sad. 

“I lost my Cas before.” Dean looked back at the wall opposite from where they both sat. “Many times before, actually. Sometimes I pushed him away, sometimes he died. I can’t imagine what I would’ve done if he stayed dead, ya know?” 

“Yeah..” D nodded, finishing up the few details he could think up from this universe’s Castiel before tearing the page out of the notepad and setting it next to the one of his Castiel. “Why are you talking about this with me? Isn’t this one of those… ‘chick flick’ moments we despise?”

“Yeah, well, we’re the same fucking person.” Dean rolled his eyes and shifted in his place so he could get a better look at both the drawings resting between them. “You’re a prissy annoying bitch, but at the end of the day, you’re still me. So let’s pretend that we’re just talking to ourselves, yeah?”

“You are very odd, Dean.” D muttered and looked over the drawings, mind wandering. Hm.. “You and your Castiel… you two… what’s he like?”

“Cas…” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s a fucking dumbass. Oblivious as fuck to everything, doesn’t understand pop culture references I make… but he’s great.”

“Wow….is he a flirt?” 

“Excuse me?” Dean looked to D in confusion, as though the very idea of the Angel being one was absurd and completely impossible. “No, too socially awkward to be one. Is yours a flirt?”

“Very.” D smiled and nodded, tilting his head back so that his green orbs could look over the ceiling. “His best line was ‘It’s our last night on Earth, and I wanna give you the universe before it implodes.’ “

“That…” Dean seemed even more confused though. “Huh?”

“What?” D turned to look at Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Your Castiel has never flirted with you at least once?” 

“Why would he? We’re not- We don’t.. He’s not into dudes.” Dean objected, eyes filled with denial, and then it clicked for D. Oh. Oh wow.

D chuckled and sighed, turning his head back to the ceiling. “Dean, Dean, Dean…. You  _ know  _ Castiel. I’m surprised you’d think something like a soul’s vessel would teeter him from flirting with it.” He thought over his words and then raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dean in curiosity. “Unless your Castiel does have a preference? I’m sorry, I forget that they’re not the same person.”

“I don’t fucking know- just-” He tried to swerve the topic somewhat, seeming a bit uncomfortable. “You’re gay?” 

“No, no, bisexual. Though, I do have a preference for men.” D hummed in content, not at all ashamed to speak of his sexual preference. Whilst it was something he kept from John, he had been reluctant from keeping said secret from Samuel. But he knew if he were to say anything, then Samuel would assume John also knew and out him to their father by accident. And if D were to tell Samuel to keep it a secret from John, then he’d start interrogating his older brother into telling him why something like this couldn’t be entrusted with their father, and that was a whole other can of worms that D wished to leave untouched. “You?”

“What? No, I’m not- I’m straight.” Dean shook his head and sputtered out his response, making D trail his gaze over him. 

He knew he was looking at his doppelganger with that same, scrutinizing gaze that Dean gave him plenty of times yesterday, such as when they spoke of John and other things regarding his father, but he didn’t care. Again, they were talking to themselves. Oddly enough. He might as well be talking to a mirror, which he has done plenty before. However, the responding sentences and questions were better than that of the mirror in his condo’s bathroom.

Dean took notice of the scrutinizing gaze and scowled, shoving D’s face so he looked away. “Stop that. I am! This version of me is!”

“Dean, I can tell a closeted man when I see one.” D gave a sigh, his hand resting next to the drawing of his Castiel. “But do not worry. We’re talking to ourselves, remember? Just like talking to thin air. Nobody will know about anything we say here.”

“I’m not-” Dean grew frustrated with D, looking about ready to wring the richer counterpart’s throat, but he instead decided to pick up the drawing of this universe’s Castiel. “He wouldn’t..”

“But he did,” reassurance seeped into D’s voice as he spoke in a soft and almost choked voice. Like it was taking all the air from his body to think about his deceased lover for more than a few minutes. “He did… He raised me from perdition, he stitched me back together… he… He saved me and my brother countless times without fail, even if Samuel will never know it. He’s given up everything for me, and I’ve only ever tried to give him the world in return.” He kept his gaze locked on the ceiling this time, even as he asked his question. “And knowing Castiel, he must have done the same for you, yes? Give you everything he could?”

The silence served as an unspoken answer filtered between the two. As stated before, several times, they were one in the same, so they already knew how they felt on the matter. They did not deserve everything, let alone the Angel of Thursday curled up in their arms every night like they yearned for. Although one of them still had that chance, and the other…. The other did not.

  
  


`````

  
  


Their talk didn’t expand further into the territory of ‘chick flick’ moments, instead going on about the many odds and ins of their separate jobs. Dean seemed frustrated and not at all surprised upon hearing that hunts were performed quickly and efficiently with devices that D’s father had created. Some turned vampires human again, curing them perse, others were large, ray guns of sorts that when shot at a ghost, completely sent them well off to the afterlife, the body and or item that kept them attached to the real world, now salted and burned even though it wasn’t found. They refrained from talk about Hell and Heaven, as well as angels and demons. It seemed like an unspoken promise, one where talk of their many deaths and afterlives for more than five minutes was uncalled for and that the subject should be changed if they ever passed that limit. 

When Dean got into the dirty work that was good ol’ fashioned hunting, D was intrigued. The idea of taking days on end to finish up a hunt that usually took him and his brother a few hours due to their money and access to inventions was enticing, and now he felt he had other reasons for wanting to stick around here for a bit longer that weren’t Castiel related. His own father, Samuel and himself had lived like that till John thought of the idea of Hunter Corp., and while he was glad they had become accustomed to a better life where they wouldn’t be picking scraps for a night’s dinner, he couldn’t help but also want to at least go back to that old way of hunting, if not for just one hunt. One hunt where, yes, there was more danger, but Samuel and him could spend more time around one another and do things themselves. Although, being alone with Samuel right now wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Not at all, in any way, shape or form.

It was the next day, the one after him and Samuel were supposed to have left. Apparently Castiel was to fly the two to an airport where they’d catch a plane using Sam and Dean’s credit cards- their own money wouldn’t work here- to a penthouse in Brazil, but their flights had been delayed a whole two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Which only made D want to try and persuade Dean and Sam into taking them on a hunt even more knowing how much time there was to do so.

D was glad he hadn’t run into his brother nor the angel on his way to the kitchen that morning after taking a cold shower once more to wash away the sweat from his nightmare filled rest. He was back in his tan jacket and white button up, his bracelets clicking satisfyingly against one another on his wrist, his nails picking away at the beads. To have his usual attire back on was a great comfort to him. 

He sniffed the air, the scent of meat filling his lungs and scrunched up his brows in thought. Oh? Wait, did this universe’s Dean know how to cook? 

As he walked into the kitchen, he saw Sam standing in front of the stove, the other pack of bacon cooking in a pan whilst some eggs were set in another. The sight of someone who looked to be his brother, even though they lacked the man bun, cooking like it was nothing made him chuckle as he entered the room.

Sam heard him enter and glanced over his shoulder at the rich Winchester, a polite smile pulling at his lips. “What’re you chuckling about?”

D gave a shrug and opened the fridge, picking up the jug of cranberry juice inside. He managed to convince Dean the night before into buying some before the flannel-wearing doppelganger went to go get some more groceries. Sure, while he lived a rich life back at home, he always enjoyed cheap cranberry juice. It was bitter and sweet in all the best ways. “It’s just odd seeing, well… practically my brother, cooking.”

“Right… how’d you manage to make yesterday’s breakfast then?” Sam flipped the bacon in its pan, little drops of grease jumping out at random, although not landing on his skin.

D hummed and opened a cupboard, searching for a cup. “Mother used to make breakfast for us everyday, and while my memories of it are fuzzy, I still recalled a few things. So I managed.”

“Mary?” The taller of the two questioned as D found a big enough cup and poured himself a glass of cranberry juice. 

“Mhm. She was a lovely woman. It’s awful, the thing that killed her…” D lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip, enjoying the bitterness of the beverage on his tongue. Flicking his gaze from his drink to the poor counterpart of his younger brother, D tilted his head in slight curiosity. “Did your Mary die as well?”

Sam gave a nod, turning around so he leaned on the counter next to the stove and faced the rich Winchester. “Yeah. I was only a few months old at the time, Dean was four..”

D took another sip and nodded in return, letting that knowledge sink in as he looked at the island at the center of the kitchen. “So, your Dean probably has visions as well?”

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows, a line pressed at the center of his forehead in an expression of confusion before it turned to realization. “Samuel doesn’t...he doesn’t have demon blood in him?”

“Oh, no, no. Samuel doesn’t.” D shook his head and set his cup down, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, you do?”

“Yeah. Wait, so Mary died in-” “My room, yes. Father had gone to the nursery to get Samuel before getting me from my room when the fire started.” D interrupted and answered his question before he could finish asking it, eyes widening a quarter of a fraction. “You have-”

“Yeah!” Sam smiled and leaned forward a bit, more interested in the conversation now. And then he remembered an experience of his that he became curious of. “Wow….. wait, has Samuel died before though?” 

“Yes, he has.” D’s lips dropped into a frown and he shuddered at the thought. “He doesn’t remember though. Please don’t bring it up.”

“I’m guessing that’s thanks to your Cas?” Sam opened the cupboard next to the one D had gotten his cup from, taking out a few plates and setting them onto the counter. 

At the mention of the Angel, D tensed and then eased up, turning his gaze to his cup as he drank some more of the bitter liquid. “Yes, that is. He’s done a fair share of good for Samuel and I.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” The taller Winchester started to set eggs and bacon onto the plates, a snort coming from him. “Wait, if you two are...like… me and Dean’s opposites- well, sort of opposites, what does your Cas act like? Wait, what does he  _ wear _ ?”

“Oh, well…” D chuckled and sighed, setting his cup down. All these questions about his Angel were making him feel somewhat nostalgic. Indulging himself into the very thing that was tearing him apart from the depths of his mind probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but these were the cards he was dealt with and he couldn’t just  _ not  _ brag about his lover to someone that might as well be his brother. He’d always wanted to ramble on and on about his Dove to Samuel, and this was a close second to that. “He’s….my dear lord… he’s extraordinary, Sammy. He’s like- like if- he’s- oh my Chuck, he’s stunning. And he’s saved me countless times and I’ve saved him and dear fuck, he’s good in bed.”

Sam choked on thin air and coughed, making D shoot up and lean over, patting his back. “Are you alright? Oh, was that too much info?”

“I.. I’m sorry, what do you mean-” Sam ignored his questions and shot back with his own, his mind going a thousand miles an hour. “Wait- you two  _ slept  _ together?”

“Well, yes.” D nodded and went back to drinking his cranberry juice while Sam got breakfast ready for the many people in the bunker. “Me and Castiel have been together for...a very long time.” 

“Oh! Wow. That’s- that is new.” Sam chuckled and shook his head, calming himself. “Wait, did you not try to bring him through the rift?”

“I…” D’s demeanor became a bit gloomier, his gaze trailing over the way the contents of his cup moved ever so slightly, rippling as he moved his hand back and forth in a slow to and fro motion. “He died a year ago. The angelic grace we used for the rift was….well, I told Samuel and father it was a uh...a potion of sorts made by a witch and they believed me. It was actually uh, it was some asshole’s grace, think his name was Megatron….Metatron? Yeah, that’s it. Dove and I killed him a few months before his….before…”

“Oh.” Sam seemed a bit taken aback, his mind pondering on a certain topic that D felt he knew what it was. Thankfully though, the doppelganger of his brother decided to spare him the pain of another question. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.” 

“It….it is.” D nodded, his heart coming to bare the same ache as the day before when he saw this universe’s cleaned up and less exhausted version of his love. “Anyway!” He shook off the saddened expression he had, replacing it with a smile as he set his now empty cup aside and walked over to pick up two of the plates there. “I’ll go set the table!” He went off towards the dining room, leaving behind a slightly concerned Sam Winchester.

On his way down through the hall, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to the more joyful memories he still had with his grimy Angel. Nights where the two stood side by side on the streets of London after D completed a hunt he was assigned to do alone, the rough walls of the alleyway they had ended up in, with him pinned as their bodies melded together. Days spent in cafes, with D providing an array of foods for the Angel who, while he became easily overwhelmed by the molecules he tasted in each food, enjoyed the textures of the treats in his mouth. Afternoons where D would share chocolates and lollipops and butterscotch pies with Castiel because while he couldn’t stand other things, he wholeheartedly loved the taste of sweets. It was in the lights of the Winter Solstice that they pressed together and whispered sweet nothings to each other in rich hotel rooms, silk sheets tucked up to their chests as they basked in one another’s warmth and ecstasy. 

Their joy was also held within the smallest of moments, when that beautiful, heat filled, blue gaze would meet his own green irises on a hunt, the two dancing around one another as though this was a kind of tango they’d spent their life perfecting. Step left, shoot, side duck, elbow, swing knife- and so on. In the moments where they’d have a silent conversation amongst themselves, even when no one else was around, as though they both had the ability to read minds; this profound bond linking their emotions and joys and sorrows to one another in a way that allowed for a healthy flow of communication on both ends.

Yes, they had danced their tango for the longest they could, but now he was left with blister covered feet and a restless brain.

And now, even as he sat down at the currently empty dining room table and awaited for the inevitable conversation that was to follow, he ignored the hallucination of his Angel sitting in the seat across from him, this trick of the mind that wanted to tear away at him even more. He had only the illusions of his grief to dance with now.


End file.
